


Combustible

by bipolar_chris



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anxiety, Cold, Gen, Hot, Not Canon Compliant, Suicide, basically me being an angsty bitch, evan and connor were already friends, weird metaphors?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:08:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22765246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bipolar_chris/pseuds/bipolar_chris
Summary: If Evan and Connor were already friends when Connor killed himself.ORI project onto these bitches and you come along for the ride.
Relationships: Evan Hansen & Connor Murphy, Evan Hansen/Connor Murphy, if you squint - Freeform - Relationship
Comments: 1
Kudos: 50





	Combustible

For as long as Evan could remember, he was always cold. No matter how many layers he adorned, shivers still wracked his body. When he was 13, he started seeing a therapist, who told him that it was one way his anxiety manifested. So he moved on. He accepted that he would be cold sometimes and he would just have to get used to it. He would live his life being frigid--maybe lukewarm on a good day-- and that was it.

And then he met Connor. The boy was like a human furnace, so when they became friends, he took full advantage of that. 

Until-- “Connor, well-- Evan, he’s gone. He took his own life.”

And for once, Evan wasn’t cold. He stumbled backwards, fire seeping out of every pore. “W-what?” he stuttered, “That’s not-- no, he wouldn’t-”

“He passed away last night. All he left was this note. Addressed to you.” Cynthia held out a neatly folded piece of paper.

Burning hands grabbed at his wrists, cementing them in place with an iron grip. Writhing fingers crept around his legs and waist. His breath hitched. Smoke was all he could smell. Singeing flesh and hair and muscle.

“Evan, honey, you should read the note.”

His head shook on its own. The boy’s eyes began to burn, lava behind them threatening to spill down. As his gaze drifted down to the note, he could only think of how incredibly _not Connor_ it was. Perfect and crisp. Orderly. Concise. 

Evan let a small whimper escape him as the molten rock began its journey down his cheeks. He thinks he’s on the floor now, but he can’t tell. Does it matter? All that exists is the boiling blood pumping in his chest that _isn’t pumping in Connor’s anymore_. The warmth flowing through him that Connor will never have again. Why did he deserve to live any more than Connor did? He couldn’t even be bothered to check on his friend after he didn’t answer the phone the night before. 

He tried to look up at Cynthia but was only met with darkness and a sharp pain, the molten tears burning his eyes beyond any recognition. And it felt so _good_ , so _needed_. 

And he needed to feel more. To feel anything. To feel everything that Connor felt. He needed to know. Evan clawed at his arms; released his scalding blood; bathed his hands in it; inhaled the steam put out. Another heaving sob shook his whole body. Salty tears mixed with the rich crimson liquid. 

He thought he heard someone calling his name, but that would be ridiculous. Connor was gone. Who was left? It was always only them. After Connor left, the world was rid of all other life. After all, how could life go on without the perfectly disastrous Murphy boy?

_It can’t. It won’t._ And so, the boy continued. He cried and scratched and he just needed his cold back. Warmth didn’t exist without Connor. It just didn’t. 

So why was he in flames?


End file.
